Exposé

5. Ava

5

Ava

I jolted awake with a faint gasp, my distinct car alarm hitting my ears with a shrill scream. Coldness seeped into my skin as my eyes blinked through the darkness, my heart racing at full speed.

What's going on?

Throwing my blankets to the side, I slipped out of bed, padding to the bedroom window.

The parking lot sat illuminated in the four a.m. darkness. Shadows stretched across the space before me as though they sought shelter from the eerie lamps hanging overhead.

My gaze dropped to my assigned parking space, my lights flashing in time with the horn.

No one was around.

Stupid acorn tree.

I dashed towards the table and snagged my keys from the fruit bowl, and turned the alarm off.

An apartment door slammed in the distance as I yanked my white robe off my bathroom door and made my way outside.

It better not be that punk in 4A again.

I stepped out into the night, my racing heart slowing as I took the stairs. Chills swept over my exposed skin.

Dew-drenched grass surrounded the covered pavilions and cooking grills—a perk of apartment living I never used.

"Was that your car?"

My stomach dropped as I spun around.

A woman with a messy bun resting on her head stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her sweats three inches too short and her shirt equally too long.

"Yes." I nodded. "Sorry. I don't know what set it off. I haven't looked yet."

"Scared the crap outta me. I thought it was that shithead in 4A again."

A smile crept across my face. "I thought the same thing."

The woman spun around and hiked back up the steps as I turned towards my car.

It stands to reason…if it was someone, they're gone now.

My fingers clenched the car door handle and gave it a tug.

Secure…

I walked around to the other side, inspecting the glass, the ground surrounding the car, and trunk. Grabbing the driver's side door handle, I tugged.

Secure too…

My brows furrowed as I glanced down the empty parking lot, minus the few extra tenants stepping out of their apartments.

Adrenaline rubbed my nerves raw as I stepped onto the curb, my skin pebbling with goosebumps.

Lights flashed on in tenant's homes, their curtains drawn back as they peered outside.

Not to worry. It was only the wind…

My bare feet shuffled over the cement, my arms wrapped around my torso as I hustled inside. The muscles in my back tensed, and a knot formed in my belly as a cold sweat slicked my goosebump-laden flesh—the hairs on my neck standing to attention.

I spun in a circle, my gaze darting between shadows.

Silence.

The cacophony of crickets hushed, their aggravating chorus leaving the air a bleeding void.

Someone's there.

I squeezed my arms tighter around me.

It's all in your head.

Spinning on my heels, I rushed towards my apartment door and darted inside, shutting the door behind me with a heavy slam.

I winced.

Shit. I'll hear about that one.

My racing heart thundered in my ears, blocking out my heavy breaths.

"Get it together, Ava." I shook my head as I leaned against the wood door and twisted the deadbolt in place.

Paranoia ran through the press like a deadly disease, wreaking havoc on everyone it touched.

Journalists live in a world where paranoia isn't just a feeling; it's a survival skill. Whitney ingrained it into our brains the moment we started at the paper.

I bit into the side of my cheek as I walked over to the living room window, peering down at the street.

The darkness greeted me as it had when it drenched me in sweat a few moments ago, the air still and hollow.

I swallowed hard and dropped my keys back into the fruit bowl, my gaze freezing on the singular mandarin orange sitting on the corner of the table.

My heart stopped, the metal clanging against the bowl as I studied the fruit.

How did that get there?

I frowned and picked it up, glancing around the floor for more.

Did someone break in while I was gone?

What if my car alarm was just a distraction?

My teeth dug deep into my cheek as I scanned my open-floor apartment.

Blood rushed from my face, causing spots between objects. My shoulders tightened as I squeezed the orange. Heavy breaths burst in and out of my lungs as I pressed my back against the wall behind me.

I studied the lack of chaos in my home except for the sheet's corners draped onto the floor and the top blanket crumpled with sleep. The carefully placed objects sitting in their rightful locations had my shoulders sagging and a breath whooshing from my lungs.

My search ended at the bathroom doorway beside me

Nothing's moved.

Everything's in order.

Dropping the squashed but edible orange in the bowl, I tucked into the bathroom and splashed cool water onto my face.

This job is going to be the death of me.

The sink dial squeaked as I turned it off, the water draining at a snail's pace, much like my exhaustion.

I really need to get them to fix this.

Glancing at my rumpled bed, I exhaled and raked my fingers through my hair, pulling it into a pony, the ends wavy from yesterday.

No time like the present, I guess.

I dug through my closet and tossed on a loose-fitting green button-up shirt paired with fitted blue skinny jeans and chunky-heeled, taupe suede ankle boots.

Sweet apple blossoms and cucumber scented shampoo spilled out from the bathroom as I exited, making my way into the kitchen and pausing.

Four-thirty a.m.

If I left now, I’ll get to the shop when it opens…

Puffing out my cheeks, I tucked my laptop into my bag and looped it on my shoulder, nabbed my keys out of the damned fruit bowl, and headed out the door.

Crickets picked up their songs again, undisturbed by the morning’s chaos, while city lights bled into the sky, swallowing the stars and holding the night in place. I unlocked my car and sunk into my seat, keeping a close eye on anything moving outside, my ponytail swaying side-to-side as I buckled, then pulled out of my space.

Lidia Faulkner, the news host for the Saturday morning news, filtered out of the car speakers, my tires humming down the darkened two-lane road, void of anyone and everyone at this forsaken hour.

A robbery gone wrong, left one dead and another wounded, and we're expecting a slight drizzle of rain this week.

Joy.

Why can't we have good news for once?

I pulled into the small parking space next to Arise Coffee and made my way inside, my laptop bag in tow and a hankering for coffee better than anything my old coffee pot could ever make.

The little white building boasted colorful signs on the glass and petunias in the window boxes, which were always vibrant and growing.

I opened the door, and a small bell chimed overhead.

"Good morning," Reagan hollered over her shoulder as she worked on someone's drink.

The robust toasted coffee beans filled the space around me, sending a zing of energy straight to my toes and washing away whatever sleepiness remained.

Small round tables sat in a huddle square separated by a white quarter wall with succulents planted on top.

Against the far wall, with a coffee sign hanging above, was a bar with three rounded seats.

Reagan turned and gave the young woman her coffee before dashing her gaze towards me.

"Let me guess…" She looked up at the chalk-covered menu hanging above the espresso machine. "You want a blueberry muffin and a caramel macchiato?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Not today. I need something a little stronger."

"Shots?"

"Reagan, who do you think I am?" I placed my bag on the table in the corner—the perfect spot to watch the crowd on the street and protect my privacy from whatever I had on my screen. "Of course I want two shots…"

I made my way to the front as Reagan went to work on a double shot espresso. "Long day already?"

Scoffing, I leaned on the counter. "I should be sleeping right now." I bunched my fists into my cheeks and leveraged them to keep my head up. "I'm running on fumes here."

I winced as the coffee grinder eviscerated the beans.

"I hear ya. My baby kept me up, and I had to come in earlier than normal to prep." She pressed the ground coffee and locked it into the machine when the door chimed.

A tall man strolled through the door wearing an expensive suit and tie, the material far more luxurious for my appetite.

"I'll be right with you."

"I'm gonna sit down and get to work." Reaching into my pocket, I slid a ten towards the register. "Keep the change."

"Thanks, Ava."

I skirted around the man staring at the sign above Reagan's head and took my seat in the corner I'd discovered during my first year at the paper. It’d been mine ever since.

Reagan had joked, six months in, about putting a VIP section in this spot, and only I would hold the membership.

Firing up my computer, I searched LexisNexis for anything pertaining to the new drug.

Reagan stood beside my table with my espresso in hand.

"You're really engrossed in that."

My brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

She laughed, setting it down beside my laptop. I rolled my shoulders, my back already stiff with the creeping ache. "I called your name. You didn't even look up when Alfred left."

"Alfred?"

"The man standing behind you when I was making your coffee…”Her head tilted to the side. “Are you okay?" She dragged a chair from the opposite side of the table and sat.

“Yeah, just distracted.” Exhaling, I sipped the caffeine and groaned. "Thanks. I needed this."

"I'm here to please. Now spill."

I glanced out of the windows through the painted advertisements and then back to Reagan. "It's a working story, but there isn't much to go on, and I'm starting to think there might not be much of a story here."

"Okay, that was about as vague as you could possibly be."

Chuckling, I picked up my drink and sipped again. "Habit. Sorry."

I leaned back into my chair and stared at the hundreds of results on the screen, none of which mentioned NeuraZene or an increase in drug busts.

Were others unaware or not interested?

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

I sighed. "Not unless you know about street drugs."

"Funny you should say that…"

Reagan rubbed the back of her neck and glanced outside before turning back to me. "I used to be in that crowd back in my high school years."

I raised a brow. "Aren't you like nineteen or twenty?"

She let out a sharp, high-pitched laugh. "Oh God, no." Pressing a hand to her chest, she rocked backward. "I'm twenty-six."

One year older than me?

"Oh, hell. I need some facial treatments."

I pressed my fingertips into the fine stress wrinkles that appeared on my forehead last year.

"You're gorgeous… What are you talking about?"

"Thank you."

A heavy silence fell over us.

"Um… so now back to your original question…" She swiped at a strand of hair on her forehead. "I might have a guy still in that scene. I could point you in his direction."

I sat up a little taller. "Really?"

She nodded and dug into her pocket, pulling out her phone. "Yeah…" Scrolling through, she leaned forward. "Have a pen?"

"Yeah, of course." I dug into my bag and grabbed the small notebook with a pen attached and handed it to her.

"I don't know if he'd be willing to talk to you. He was pretty paranoid and suspicious of everyone when I knew him, but it's worth a shot." Reagan scribbled on the paper and slid the booklet back as the front door opened. She stood. "I included his last known address. We used to go there to party all the time."

"Wow. Thank you."

"Of course. Good luck." She walked towards the coffee bar and greeted the woman in gray high heels and a pencil skirt.

Reagan's penmanship would leave the best calligrapher jealous in their tracks.

Skeeter?

What kind of name is that?

Pulling up Pipl, I ran his address and alias through the search and pinged him.

Carson 'Skeeter' Givens

Age: 45

"Okay, already a perv." Fantastic.

I rolled my eyes and continued down his police jacket, no doubt four inches thick, with arrests dating back to the nineties. All them coming out of the same address his entire life…two blocks up.

I could walk there.

And ask him what?

Glancing out the window, the sun peeking over the buildings, chasing away the eerie shadows of the night, I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Where am I going with this story?

I growled and tossed my hand on the table, the bustling coffee shop moving into silence.

My shoulders shrunk as I took in the patrons’ eyes trained on me.

"Sorry."

I blinked my dry eyes and used the heavy awkwardness as my cue to pack it up and get out of there.

Closing my laptop, I slipped it into my bag, pulled the strap over my shoulder, and shimmied my way outside.

I rubbed my eyes again and turned the corner towards my parked car, my body jolting to a stop as it collided with a fleshy wall of muscle.

My bag slid down my shoulder, pressing on my inner elbow, my hand reaching out for the brick wall beside me.

Two large, strong hands gripped my arms, steading my wobbling stance.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"No. No. It's my fault. I was looking at my phone."

His voice rumbled with a deep undertone, sending a wave of lust to my toes.

Henry Cavill, eat your heart out.

"Are you alright?" His lip quirked in a lopsided smile.

I glanced down at my bag dangling off my elbow, the bottom far from the floor.

Thank God.

Replacing a laptop in this day and age costs a fortune.

"Yeah. I'm good." His hands slid down my arms and fell to his sides. "Are you?"

"I think I'll survive." His lopsided smile grew broader, showcasing a dimple on his left cheek.

My gaze met a dark one, my heart skipping a beat.

The man towered over me, my neck craned back. His gray t-shirt tight against his biceps, but the saying imprinted in bold white letters pulled a grin from my lips.

"I didn't break anything. I swear."

A thick brow lifted as he cocked his head to the side.

My joke swung and missed, causing a crawling sensation up my spine.

"Your shirt." I pointed. "It's funny."

I'm here because you broke something.

He glanced down and nodded. " Ah , that makes more sense." A slight chuckle pulled another dimple from the right cheek.

Oh. My. God.

Heat burned in my cheeks as my eyes trailed down his thick tattooed arms, tapered waist, and thighs snug in a pair of dark blue cargo pants.

"Sorry, you'd think I'd be a people person by now." I lifted my strap onto my shoulder and adjusted my shirt beneath it. "But I'm just as awkward as the day I was born."

Silence fell over us, and my breathing stuttered.

"Well…you've got important places to be, and I'm in your way."

“Not at all.” The dimples fell from his stubbled jawline, the hair dark, matching the shorter strands on his head and longer bits on top. "I was questioning my life's choices, is all."

"What do you know…so am I."

We chuckled and he tucked his hand into his pocket. "It was nice bumping into you. We should do it again sometime."

"Yeah. Okay…"

The man who ignited a flame in my belly for the first time in two years walked around me and the corner out of sight.

My teeth bit down into my lip.

Hot damn.

My hand pulsed in front of me like a fan, casting cool air into my face. Adjusting my shoulder strap, I walked the two blocks towards Skeeter's last known address.

Colonial-style houses lined the street, the trees planted in the berm towered over both homes and sidewalks. Their pristine white picket fences bordered deep green lawns, trimmed to perfection, with flower beds lining the foundations of each home.

Not a neighborhood you'd expect a drug dealer to live in.

I stopped in front of his house number, and a man matching Skeeter's mugshot stood in the driveway next to an old muscle car, filling a five-gallon bucket with a water hose.

"Can I help you?"

" Uh… " I glanced around, detailing my surroundings. "Yeah, are you Carson Givens? Otherwise known as Skeeter?"

The man with graying black hair and scruff to match chuckled. "I already checked in with my parole officer."

"That’s not why… I’m Ava Thatcher…" I dug into my pocket and pulled out my press ID, holding it up so he could see. "I work for The Riverfield Chronicles ." I pocketed the ID.

"Well, A- va ," he said, emphasizing the V. "I don't speak to cops, and I don't talk to reporters."

I tried not to roll my eyes.

Great. One of those.

"Listen, I'm doing a—"

"No, you listen, lady." He stepped forward, pointing his finger at me. "I said no. Isn't that word important to all you feminists?"

My brows hiked up as I took a step back. "Quite the assumption."

"I'm not wrong though, am I?"

"You're not entirely right either." My heart tripped over a beat as a sinister smirk settled over his face.

"I'll give you ten seconds to get off my property and out of my face before I hose you down. How's that?"

"Fine. Fine." I walked away, my hand holding tight to my shoulder strap. "Jackass."

Hustling back to my car, I dropped my laptop bag in the passenger seat, keeping an eye out for the mysterious man who disappeared like it was his profession, then sank into my seat.

Espresso and adrenaline chugged through my veins, my knee bobbing to an ethereal rhythm as I drove home, my shoulders sagging.

It'd been four days since my anonymous email, and I was no closer to finding a story than I was on day one.

Whitney is going to have my head.

Parking in my space, I turned the car off, snagged my bag, and headed towards the front of the building.

A man in a gray shirt with dark blue cargo pants worked a screwdriver into the ground window one floor below mine.

Is that…

"Hey, stalker. What are you doing here?"

The mysterious man glanced over his shoulder, then paused. "Stalker?" He stood upright with a smile accentuating those sexy dimples. "I think I was here first. So doesn't that make you a stalker?"

" Touché." I narrowed my gaze at the screwdriver in his hand and then through the open window where Trina, a thirty-year-old bartender with legs a mile long, stood in the kitchen. "So you really are a handyman?"

He shrugged. "Some days." His eyes fell on my laptop bag. "And you must be a—"

"Here, Nate. I brought you some lemonade. It's fresh— Oh hey, Ava. Have you met our new handyman?" She raised her brows over and over, biting her bottom lip.

I let out a sarcastic huff and nodded. "I have, but I didn't know his name. He ran off before we got that far."

"I ran off?" Nate declined the glass of lemonade with a swipe and shake of his head, then placed the screwdriver back into a small black and yellow canvas bag.

"Oh, definitely ran away." I crossed my arm over my chest and grabbed my bag's strap on my shoulder. "One minute you're there, then the next… poof." I flicked my fingers through the air as if he were invisible specks of something not quite of this world.

Nate glanced down at his feet with a slight nod and a chuckle, then bent over and picked up a coffee cup off the ground. "I needed coffee." He took a sip, his dimples deeper than ever.

God, what I'd give to lick them.

Heat spiked my cheeks.

Trina bent over, looking out through the open window. "Do you want a lemonade, Ava?"

"I'm good, thank you. I need to get going anyway." I held Nate's gaze for a passing moment, then turned towards the stairs.

"It was nice meeting you, Ava."

"You too. Have fun contemplating your life's choices." I smiled at Nate and waved at Trina, who hadn't taken her eyes off of him. "Bye, Trina."

"What?" Nate's brows dipped together.

I let out a dry chuckle as I hit the stairs. "Never mind."

"Wait." Nate's voice echoed off the stairwell. He bounded up the stairs as though it were nothing, then handed me a small rectangular business card. "In case you need anything. Here's my card."

"Thanks." My brows furrowed as I flipped the card over. "Shouldn't I call the maintenance line?"

"Yeah." He gave a lopsided shrug as he turned and made his way back down the stairs. "But then you wouldn't get me directly."

I stared at his broad shoulders, his foot hitting the bottom step. Nate turned and glanced up at me. Heat rushed through my body, ending at my cheeks with a searing burn.

There's no way he couldn't see me blushing.

God, what is wrong with me?